


Quid Pro Quo

by the-reylo-void (Anysia)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mutual Pining, Post-TLJ, Spoilers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anysia/pseuds/the-reylo-void
Summary: They stay balanced in all things. Even their hurt.





	Quid Pro Quo

**Author's Note:**

> The Last Jedi destroyed me. This is one of many fics in an attempt to rectify that destruction... or increase it further.

The bond stays closed for several weeks after Crait.

Rey had thought it would be harder, that she’d spend every waking moment stitching together the loose threads of it, warp and weave a barrier to herself just to keep him out.

But there’s nothing. It’s just hollow.

Like her.

Like him.

When it finally does open, there’s little fanfare; their bond is not an elegant thing, nor is it convenient. She’s bared to the waist, damp from the ‘fresher, reattaching her wrist guards, then…

Something drawing taut like a bowstring. The echo of a pebble dropped in the center of a dark pond.

Her arms drop limply to her sides, and she can feel his dark gaze steady on her back, the smooth wings of her shoulderblades, the track of water droplets still sluicing between them from the ends of her hair.

She can feel words burning at the tip of his tongue, feel the way his gloved hands curl into fists at the sight of pale skin, soft curves, defined muscles.

How badly he wants to touch.

And how she…

“Don’t.” It’s harsh, whipped into the room and echoed against the damp tile.

She closes her eyes and swallows hard, tries not to think of the way his bare fingertips had grazed against hers, the size of his hands, and how warm and steady they might feel against the small of her back, her shoulders, beneath the fall of her hair and…

“Stop.” He’s breathing hard, and she Force-pulls a towel to herself, holds it against her chest and turns to face him, his eyes dark with pain, longing, want.

She can’t see his surroundings.

“Why are you here,” she bites at him, twists the towel in her hands.

Kylo says nothing. He glances to the still-reddened scar along her right arm, and she flinches as he raises his hand, just a little, as if to…

“You haven’t healed that well.” He rests his hand back at his side. “I should have gotten to you faster. I’m sorry.”

Rey narrows her eyes, allows a harsh, bitter laugh to tear from her throat. “Really. You consider that your greatest mistake that night.”

Kylo’s features remain impassive. “I never said that.”

Rey turns her back to him again, swallows hard against the rising lump in her throat. “I won’t do this again. Get out.”

“I suppose we’ve both left our scars on each other.”

“Get  _out_.”

“Strange how you never considered that, back when this started. So light. So good.” His voice is, as always, unfailingly soft, and she hates it. “You did hurt me, there in the forest.”

Rey whirls to face him, towel discarded, bared and shaking in fury. “I hurt you,” she repeats, and her voice is low and tight with rage. “I hurt  _you_. You’ve taken everything I loved. You hurt Finn. You killed Han. You took Luke. You called me  _nothing_.”

“That’s not what that was and you know it.” He’s placid, moves just a fraction at her furious scream as she launches a towel holder at him.

It’s infuriating, this man who is forever a raging storm and wild winds, who seems to calm and find peace only with her.

Rey balls her hands into fists at her sides, ducks her head against her chest and allows her tears to fall. He’s seen them enough.  _Caused_  them enough. 

Neither of them have room for lost pride. 

“We’re even, you and I,” she manages. “Get out. I never want to see you again.”

“You’re angry.” He steps forward, and she instinctively crosses her arms over her bare chest, but there’s nothing sexual to the way his fingertips skim over her jawline, the way his dark eyes seem to linger, appraise, burrow deep inside her. “What don’t you want to tell me, Rey?”

She meets his gaze, forces herself to hold it, but says nothing, even as his knuckle curves across her cheekbone, catches a stray tear.

_Don’t dig so deep_ , she thinks to him,  _don’t find what…_

“…I broke your heart,” he says quietly. “You’re angry because you loved me. Because I left you, hurt you like they all did, there in the end.”

She closes her eyes, feels the hot sting of tears sliding down her cheeks. “No.”

She trembles at the feeling of soft lips brushing against her temple, down beside her ear.

“Rey,” she hears him murmur, and it’s soft, so soft. 

“We’re even on that, too.“

She gasps, eyes flying open.

“ _Ben.”_

But he’s gone. The room is silent but for the slow drip of water and her own ragged breathing.

She reaches out with tentative fingers, tries to find a thread to follow and hold.

The bond stays closed.


End file.
